


Creaks and Rust

by SIX_Calavera



Series: Overwatch [3]
Category: overwatch
Genre: Amoutation talk and medicinal stuff i dont actually know anything about, Body Trauma, F/M, Flirting, Pain, Phantom pain, Romance, Slight Humor, Teasing, Unfinished, and short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 10:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8797936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SIX_Calavera/pseuds/SIX_Calavera
Summary: You know he isn't one to ever ask for help. But how could he expect you to ignore something so serious? How could he expect to hide it? You walk over and kneel before him. Inspecting the intricate mechanics that make up his leg, “You sure it isn't hurting you?” you press, though you already know the answer.





	

Surging, pulsating, relentless, infuriating pain. 

But it's not even real. Though he can feel it...in all the spaces where he knows there's nothing.  
He grinds his teeth. It aches right to the bone, his flesh bristles on top of it. Or so it would. But there is no bone. No flesh being twisted despite the very real feeling of a vice gripping his leg. And there's nothing he can do about it. Except suffer through it. 

He can grin. And he can laugh as he does. If he thinks about it it only makes it worse. But in attempting to ignore it, it only comes back stronger. 

What he wouldn't give for a distraction. Well...explosives can make for good distraction...but they never last long enough. 

He rubs that metal heap of what now makes up his right leg. He grips it but feels nothing. He can't get at that intangible pain beneath heaps of his own psyche. 

He hisses. It's getting worse.

“Stupid leg...” he growls, bringing his fist down on the prosthetic. Waves of invisible pain ripple, but nothing more. 

“Jamison, you alright?” you ask as you walk in. Just hearing his tone a single octave below ‘giddy’, worries you. 

You walk in to see him tweaking and tinkering with the metal prosthetic. Screwdriving at different areas and adjusting different pressures. 

His eyes snap up to look at you. A flash of surprise across his face, “Huh? What, nothing. I- I'm not doing anything. Haha.” he quickly bends his prosthetic leg over his left in an attempt to look casual.  
Remembering the screwdriver he quickly tosses it across the room. 

You scoff, following the screwdrivers trajectory. It wasn't inconspicuous in any way. But subtlety wasn't a concept Junkrat was familiar with, so you weren't terribly fazed. 

His face was calm for a moment. But he couldn't avoid that grimace on his face as his body refused to let him forget that he had a ghost, the one that haunted his phantom limbs. 

“It's your leg...” you add, the situation was obvious to you right away. You had seen this many times, “...you're having phantom pains, aren't you?”

“Don't be silly, it's been years since I lost my leg. Why would it still hurt?” he replied dismissively, waving you away nervously. 

You know he isn't one to ever ask for help. But how could he expect you to ignore something so serious? How could he expect to hide it? You walk over and kneel before him. Inspecting the intricate mechanics that make up his leg, “You sure it isn't hurting you?” you press, though you already know the answer. 

He's just about to deny it again but before he can say ‘of course not.’ he lets out a pained gasp and goes to grip his prosthetic. 

“Ok, ok, it hurts. It's hurting!...” he groans, his thick australian accent carrying a level of strain that was so abnormal for the usually dramatically upbeat Aussie. He sucks in air through his teeth, the pain knocking the air out of him, “...I just don't understand why.” 

You press the tip of your fingers against the slender metallic pipe that makes up Junkrat’s lower leg. He watches as you touch him, a pained look on his face. He doesn't feel you, but he believes he does and that's the root of the problem...and the solution. 

You retract your fingers and keep them at your side, “Don't worry. It's normal. Sadly it's something that could continue to pop up for years. You just have to learn how to make it better. Does it usually hurt this bad?”

He laughs inwardly, “No, actually. Hah, it usually doesn't. This is ah...this a first.” he giggles, trying his best to be his usual energetic self, but despite his efforts it all sounds forced. 

You know a trick. You had seen it done once before. Maybe it'll help here as well. 

“Well that's good...” you begin, “...I might be able to help.” 

If this works it should keep his leg from hurting this badly again. You hope so, anyway. You could always just do it again. 

You trace the lines of Jamison’s leg with your fingertips. Smoothly running them up his leg until they reach his knee. 

He watches you, utterly confused and with knitted brows. You give him a look, silently asking for a bit of faith. 

He lets you continue but he keeps that funny look on his face as he does. 

You reach past his knee until you feel what little is left of his right leg. The flesh that was cut short mid thigh.  
He shutters, a funny little vibrating noise escaping his chest that you quite enjoy. 

You kiss his metal knee, and his eyes study your face, distracting him from your hands.

You hand grips around the screwdriver Junkrat had tossed.... You look him in the eyes, your right hand, now gently pressed against his stomach, reading his breathing. His body quivers and his breathing slows as he momentarily forgets his troubles. He closes his eyes for a moment enjoying being under the scrutiny of your wandering hands.  
“Sheila...?” He breathes...

You ignore him, because your right hand is quickly being brought down, striking perfectly at the junction of metal cogs that make Junkrat's knee.  
Driving it deep into the crude amalgamation of parts. Junkrat jumps. Not realising what you had done at first. Snapping out of his lulled sense of calm he stares at the screwdriver you had embedded in his prosthetic. 

That should hurt! He jumps up, screaming, “Ah! Oho! Wait-” he cuts himself off for a moment before screaming again, “Oh god, ow!! Oh wait a minute-”, he stares in shock yet again, standing on the bed on one leg, his hands cradling his mechanical one. 

A leg of flesh and blood would be in devastating agony but...that's not his real leg. 

There's nothing there...there's nothing there...

He exhales dramatically, gratefully. 

“Crikey, that scared the shit outta me, sheila.” he slaps his forehead, sighing. True reality finally dawning on him. He plops back down on the bed, running his hand through his thick blond hair, still a bit riled up. 

You chuckle lightly, “Sorry, but that was the point. So, how's your leg?” 

“I nevah thought I'd be this happy to have a screwdriver in my leg. I don't feel a thing...” he replies. Laughing happily as he roughly yanks the instrument out of his leg, “...you've got quite an arm there, sheila. Remind me to stay on your good side.”

You sighed happily, “Well I'm glad it worked. If it hadn't well...ironically you would have been screwed.” you winked. 

Hands on your hips, proud of having come to the rescue, you were ready to take your leave and let Junkrat repair himself.

“Oi, what if I told you I had one more thing I needed you to take a look at?” Junkrat called out.

You scoffed, “I'd say, I know where you're going with this and you're not funny, Jamison.” knowing full well that you should take everything Junkrat said with a grain of salt you simply kept walking.

“Come on, you stick a screwdriver in a man’s and you're just gonna leave him hanging? You know, where I come from, that's a form of courtship.” Junkrat grins a toothy grin, his intention clear as day. But you suppose you're grateful that someone like him is also incredibly easy to read.

“That's very funny. But I really should get going. You're not the only one who needs my tender love and care you know?”

“Hmmm...you bettah not be that tender and loving with everyone. I'll get jealous...”

“Goodbye Jamison.”

“Now hol- hold on a minute. Just- help me take this thing off at least. It's useless now, thanks to you, lovely.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging your feet towards him, “You my destroying your leg is what helped you, right? You remember that happening?” 

“Of course, Sheila. Of course. I'm just sayin’ you broke it, now help me fix it.”

You sighed....”Yeah, alright, alright.”

Junkrat pointed out screws and such that would need loosening. He did a few and the allowed you to do the rest, eventually you were able to pull the thing off his leg. 

It was an interesting contraption. Nothing like the prosthetics that Doctor Ziegler could do. But something about being able to see the skeletal build of such a creation and how each piece worked together to make it work was very impressive. 

“So you built these yourself, didn't you?” 

“Oh yeah. Put a lot of care and effort into em. A lot...of care and effort...”

You gave him a deadpan look, cocking your head for added good measure. 

“No- not that I'm blaming for anything. No, no of course not. I'm very grateful.” he added quickly.

Junkrat grimaced slightly again, rubbing his thigh. 

You instinctively ran your hands over his leg. Massaging with my own hands, testing the amount of muscle development in his severed leg.  
“Must be sore from having that thing on all the time. Why don't you let Doctor Ziegler make you something better. You wouldn't get phantom pains as often either...”

“I don't want that quack anywhere near me. I've seen that green ninja guy. Noooo thank you.”

“Hmmm...I don't know...I think he looks pretty good.”

Junkrat scowled at you, “Like him do ya? What, just because he's all shiny?”

“Hey, creaky and rusty has its appeals too.”

“Ohoho, I'll show you rusty.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might actually come back to this one and add a little bit more.


End file.
